200 women, 500 men, an uncountable amount of dollar store tattoos and a dead ex-husband are just the tip of the cuntberg for this self-proclaimed 'human cockroach'. I do have to say though, that vagina is in remarkable condition for a lady that has more mileage than Al Bundy's Dodge Duster. [More Info = HERE]
You know you had fun when the next day you wake up with a concussion and realize you not only left your phone, but you also forgot your clothes, underwear, sunglasses and self-respect at the club.
Skanky country girl and dopey get real nasty. Either she's on her period or she just can't handle it. Either way she's not bothered at all and licks the bloody snickers bar clean.
Epic poker face @ .57 mark. I call this one the 'i totally just nutted in my own mouth but i dont even give a fuck cause i have a 6.7 inch penis and listen to Rage Against The Machine on vinyl' look. Dude's got that shit mastered.
The real hero of today's adventure should be whatever surgeon sews that bag of expired beef back together in the last clip. It seems learning how to be a boxer through YouTube videos with a language barrier has consequences. More [here]
A five minute crash-course on how to squeeze every moment out of your favorite side piece, as illustrated by the shameless, the morally-deprived, and the defenders of all things Insane Clown Posse. It's priceless information really. Trust me on this one.
Much like Cardi B's popularity, one has to question why this even exists in and how we got here in the first place. Emphasis on the Oscar-award winning method acting seen in the opening dialogue. Simply brilliant.
First-timer foolishly assumes her debut appearance is going to be a walk in the park. Emphases on the word walk, because it looks like all her future tours of Italy at Olive Garden are going to be wheelchair accessible from this point forward. What in the fuck...
Everything in life has a proper explanation if you open your mind. Except the homie trying to scrub daddy his dirty walnut on a Tuesday afternoon in broad daylight around the 1:45 mark. NORAD will hear about this.
hmm, strange. Here I am thinking the whole "i'm training to turn my uterus into a parking garage for hellcats" was no longer a lucrative financial path worth pursuing. And then the last girl went ahead proved me wrong.
It's not even the fact that these fetishes exist. It's that some of these creaturas are banking a yearly salary after swimming through an Arby's dumpster for 3 minutes so Jungle Jack in Frogdick Mississippi can have beat off material for the week. We might not be in end times. But intermission was a long time ago.
